What If?
by KeltheDreamer
Summary: What if? These are powerful words, able to change the course of kingdoms and stories. A collection of one-shots exploring the many "what ifs?" of the Wingfeather Saga. Rated T for safety.


Kalmar woke strangling his pillow. He stared at it, shocked at how quickly he had gone from horrible dream to an even worse reality. He sat up, ripping the blankets off his legs. Trying not to panic, he stumbled out of bed and lurched towards the door. His sweaty hands slipped around the knob.

"Kalmar?" Leeli mumbled from her bed.

He froze. "Just… stepping out for a minute. Go back to sleep."

Leeli grunted.

Kalmar wiped his hands on his trousers. He carefully opened the door and stepped out into the cold air. This maze of tents and shacks was Anniera. These were his subjects. He was the High King. This was his kingdom.

He followed the path out of the camp and up the hill.

Everyone had agreed that Janner deserved more than a gravestone or marker. With their own hands, they had salvaged stones from the ruins of Castle Rysen and built this box-like tomb. It stood as tall as Kalmar, and little gifts lay piled around it- limp paper flowers, scraps of poems and drawings, sometimes just a pretty shell or rock. All put there by grateful, grieving people.

Kalmar bit his lip and curled his fists until his fingernails pierced his skin. He flinched and opened his palm. In the moonlight, his hand looked white and his blood looked black.

But they weren't really his hands. It wasn't really his blood. He had given up half of himself when he sang the Song of the Ancient Stones, and Janner had filled in that missing half. It was Janner's life that was running through his veins. Everyone on Anniera had a part of Janner's life in them.

Kalmar let out a shivering sigh. It would have never worked. Even if they had found the First Well, Janner's life had been splintered into a thousand pieces and transplanted into a thousand souls. If Janner had reclaimed his life, all those thousand would have only been left with a half-life, and no one can live fully on a meager half-life. Kalmar knew that he couldn't do that to all the people. Janner wouldn't want it.

Not that Janner would want this miserable existence at all, he thought.

Kalmar felt the first hot tear slide down his face. His human sight was nothing compared to the wolf vision he once had, but he could still read the words carved into the side of the tomb. He'd read and cursed those words so many times that they were burned into the back of his eyelids. He saw them every time he closed his eyes.

_Here lies Janner Wingfeather_

_Son of Esben and Nia Wingfeather_

_Aged Thirteen Years_

_Throne Warden of Anniera_

_He gave his life, so that the whole island could live._

_Year One of the Fifth Epoch_

Kalmar ran his hand across the letters, scraping the barely-healed scab on his hand open again. _What if? What if? What if?_ The words took up their familiar chant. Kalmar closed his eyes, pressing his lips together. What if he had been stronger? What if he had closed his lips when told to sing? Would Janner still be alive?

A suffocating mixture of guilt and grief dropped over him like a heavy blanket. He sank to his knees, digging his fingers into the cracks between the tomb's stones. Through the buzzing in his ears, he faintly heard footsteps behind him. He didn't move.

"Nice tomb you built for me. Was it your idea, Kal?" The voice was even more familiar than the one screaming in his head.

Kalmar jumped violently. He scrambled to his feet, rubbing his crying eyes, doubting every one of his senses.

Janner stood there, smiling down at him.

Kalmar steadied himself against the tomb- the tomb of the boy that was standing in front of him. He felt dizzy.

When Kalmar came to, his collar had been loosened and he was lying flat on his back. Janner was crouching over him.

"Good, you're awake," he said, "I didn't think you'd faint like that."

Kalmar seized Janner's hand. It was warm- it was flesh- it had to be real. "Janner?" he choked.

"Kal."

Kalmar struggled to sit up. "But you- you're dead. You- ow." He winced and put his hand to the back of his head.

"You hit your head on… my tomb," Janner said, smiling as he glanced at the monument, "When you fainted. I'm sorry. I remember how much that hurts."

Kalmar laughed nervously. "That explains everything then. I've fallen and hit my head and am dreaming." He faked a smile, but it disintegrated into a look of disappointment. "I thought-" he shook his head. "I've never had this dream. Usually you're killing me."

"What? I do _what_ in your dreams?"

Kalmar shuddered and hugged his knees. "I'm always about to sing the song, but then your ghost rises out of the ground and begins to choke me. You won't let me sing the song. You'll kill me before you let me sing the song. And I wish you would have!" He drew a sleeve across his face, then looked at Janner with a small smile. "But this is nice."

Janner looked horrified. "You dream that?"

"Yes."

Janner laid a hand on Kalmar's shoulder. "Kal, this isn't a dream."

"You're dead- you're buried- I saw it all. Of course it's a dream."

Janner peered anxiously at him. "You have to believe this is real. It won't make a difference if you think you're dreaming." He paused. "What could I do to prove this isn't a dream? Feel me, Kal, I'm really here." He laid his hand on Kalmar's cheek.

"It's a vivid dream. I've had lots of them."

"What about your head? When's the last time you felt pain in a dream? Wait- turn your head."

Kalmar did.

Janner pressed his fingers to the knot on Kalmar's head. The moment he did, the pain disappeared.

Kalmar clapped his hand to the back of his head. The lump was gone, and his headache had vanished. "Whoa," he muttered.

"Please believe I'm real, Kal," Janner said, "You aren't dreaming."

"There's no way."

Janner studied him. "I'm sorry in advance," he said, and then pinched his brother's arm. He didn't let go until Kalmar cried out. "Now do you believe I'm real?"

Kalmar rubbed the welt on his arm. "I guess." He looked up. "So- you're alive then? How could-"

"I'm not exactly 'alive.' I mean, I died, and-"

"So you're a ghost then?"

"No. I'm flesh and blood, really here. Kal, don't faint on me again. Just lean back, look at me. Try to understand that this isn't a dream."

Kalmar nodded. Dream or not, he had never seen Janner look so well. During the war, Janner was constantly weary, his face always pinched and drawn. Even when they lived in Skree, before everything started, life had always been hard, and the hardness had showed. But the Janner than crouched before him now was in excellent health. He sat straight- his eyes sparkled- his skin glowed…

All of him seemed to glow.

"Janner?"

"Yes?"

"If this is real…"

"It is."

"Why are you here?"

Janner looked up at the sky. "Because you need me."

Kalmar's eyes widened. "You're staying?"

Janner shook his head. "Not for long. The Maker has other things for me to do. He's given me till sunrise."

"Why only till sunrise?" Kalmar looked at the horizon. The sky over the sea was too bright.

"Because there's a battle that's going to be fought in Natalia just after sunrise, and the rabbits are going to need all the help they can get."

"Rabbits?"

"Don't try to understand it, Kal," Janner said. "I'm not here to explain the ins and outs of the afterlife. I mean, I'd love to- it's amazing, what the Maker has for you- but I don't have time."

Kalmar looked away. "I'm sorry, Janner."

"Sorry for what?"

"I'm sorry for being such an awful, stupid brother," Kalmar said, "I- If only I hadn't sang the song- you'd still be alive."

"You don't know that," Janner said.

"But I do!" Kalmar said, his voice rising, "It's my fault! If I hadn't sang, I would have been able to- you wouldn't-" his voice broke with a sob.

"Kalmar." Janner's voice was deep and still. "That's a lie. You can't blame yourself. It's a lie that you keep telling yourself. A lie you tell yourself is worse than one the world tells you."

"You died," Kalmar whispered, "Because of me."

"No. Not because of you. For you. Don't you understand? I didn't do it because I was a Throne Warden. I didn't do it because you were a Fang. I did it because I love you. I did it because I love you more than I love my life. I love you, Kal."

Somewhere in Kalmar's heart, the clouds parted for the first time since that dreadful day, and a beam of sunlight burst through. He lifted his head. "Really?"

"Really, truly, honestly."

"I love you too, Janner."

Somewhere across the waves, a lone sea dragon lifted its head above the water and sang a few notes.

"It's sunrise," Kalmar said. He turned to face Janner.

But it wasn't Janner any more. It was a tall, strong, handsome warrior.

"It's alright, Kal," the warrior said, "It's still me. But there's a battle to be fought, and-"

"You look like Uncle Artham," Kalmar said.

The warrior Janner cocked his head. "I look more like Papa. I've seen him as he was, you know."

Kalmar stared at the face of his older brother- the older brother who suddenly looked much, much older. He tried to memorize every detail of the face. This was the closest he would come to looking at the human face of his father.

"There's a few moments left before sunrise," Janner said, and he knelt on one knee. "Hug?" He spread his arms wide.

Kalmar ran and wrapped his arms around the great shoulders. He screwed his eyes shut, trying to remember how Janner felt, how he smelled. When he pulled away, Janner was the boy Janner again.

"I wanted the last hug," he said, smiling lightly, "To be a brother-brother one."

"Will you… will you ever come back?"

"We'll see," Janner said. "There's so much darkness in the world. The fight is never over. Besides, you don't need me."

"But I miss you."

The sea dragon called again.

"I must go," Janner said, grasping Kalmar's hand. "Tell Leeli to keep playing that whistleharp. It still connects us." He hesitated, and Kalmar thought he saw tears in the deep eyes. But Janner smiled. "Till we meet again, Kal, whether that be in this world or the next."

Kalmar's throat had closed up, so he simply nodded.

Janner turned and bounded up into the air, climbing an invisible staircase to the skies. Kalmar watched as he mounted higher and higher, growing smaller with every leap upwards.

"Thank you!" Kalmar suddenly shouted, running a few steps forward before stopping. "Thank you!"

Janner stopped and looked down. He wasn't the warrior Janner. He wasn't the boy Janner. He was somehow both of these and more at once. The rays of the rising sun reflected from him. He was beautiful.

Janner smiled, a smile only a being touched by the Maker could smile. "Your name," he called, in a voice sweeter and richer than dragon-song, "Is Kalmar. Your father was- and still is- Esben Wingfeather, and you are his son, the High King of Anniera."

And Janner disappeared into the sky.


End file.
